Touching the Sky
by rumul-tumbul
Summary: He was called by many names. Qahnaarin, Apprentice, Master, etc. But there was one thing that she alone could truly call him: friend. The adventures of a silly wizard boy and his vampire princess companion. Rated M for explicit language, detailed depictions of violence, and (quite possibly) mature themes later on.
1. Prologue

(**AN: I started this as a small writing project to pass the time over the summer, on top of a summer assignment, so the chapter updates might be sporadic as I complete the Dawnguard story line.**

**I got this idea after I saw the severe lack of Skyrim fics depicting non-Dragonborn characters (which is why I listed the main character as an OC and not the Dragonborn/Dovahkiin) and fics where the characters simply lampoon through the world and not end up in some sort of relationship. Therefore, this story will instead focus on a growing friendship between a cynical and cautious young(ish?) woman and her companion who is just a bit too trusting.  
**

**Therefore, dear reader, I bid you to read on!**)

* * *

Gods everything _hurt._

He couldn't see, and he couldn't breathe, and every sound was muffled and hazy; briefly he thought he'd been struck blind and deaf by the impact, but that was not the case. As his vision began to clear, all he could see in front of him was his hands and the remains of Auriel's Chapel, shattered to ruins. For a moment he wondered if he would die here – if they would both die here. But those thoughts were, thankfully, quickly dashed by the feeling of someone grabbing his hand. Their fingers were deathly cold, thin and womanly, but calloused and strong. He looked up, breathing a rattly sigh of relief and coughing up dust as he tried to get to his feet.

"Are you alright?" she asked him, giving a glance to the sizable hunk of rock that he wriggled out from under; if it were any other man, she would have been surprised that it hadn't killed him. "He fled to the balcony; we can still do this."

She didn't have to say another word, before he was on his feet and following her briskly, keeping his sword sheathed for the sake of civility; though it didn't matter anymore He still held onto a tiny glimmer of hope that they would be able to settle this diplomatically, though.

But he knew he was wrong.


	2. Awakening

It must have been very strange, seeing her wake up like that. She knew it was strange for her, at least, to see him there, standing and staring owlishly. _But he's just a boy, _was the first thought that ran through her mind. But then she saw the ever so slight wrinkles on his brow from many hours of concentration, the kind of wrinkles that you could only see when the light hits your face just right; the way he stood, with his back straight; the way the air about him subtly commanded attention, as if to whisper "look at me, I have power, but I wish not to flaunt it; no, only for you to see, and to acknowledge." And yet, at the same time, those things were tempered by the rounded cheeks, the large blue-green eyes, the shock of yellow hair that peeped out from under his canvas hood; there was no way this man – this _boy _– could be–

He reached out his hand to help her, but she stood on her own, wobbling a little. It would take time for her to get used to her legs again. The boy – she had decided to refuse to refer to him as a man – never dropped his hand. Instead, it remained stretched out, reaching, as if pleading. His mouth moved to speak but no sounds came out; it irritated her, just a little bit, the way he looked like a suffocating fish.

She interrupted his dying fish movements to ask what his name was. He blinked rapidly a few times, his mouth gaping open, before he shut it and spoke.

"Debent. My name is Debent."

* * *

After he had, quite literally, slapped himself out of his initial shock, the two had a somewhat pleasant conversation (at least he thought it was pleasant, from his end, despite the chilly responses he got from the mysterious woman he had come to know as Serana), regarding the woman's apparent incarceration in this, what he could only describe as a tomb; the Elder Scroll that was slung over her shoulder, and, most importantly, her vampirism. Or at least her alleged vampirism. He wasn't as sure yet; any fool could lock themselves in a stone box, say they're a vampire, and pretend not to know what the Alessian Empire was...

Maybe.

He rubbed his chin, musing and staring off into the distance for a moment, before he was interrupted, again, by Serana.

"If it's okay with you, I'd just like to get out of here. Do you think you can get me home?"

"I suppose so. Where would 'home' be, though?"

"On an island, off the coast of Solitude. On the sea boarder with High Rock."

He pursed his lips, feeling his muscles tense before he smiled, although it was less a pleasantry and more so to keep from frowning so deeply his mouth drooped off his face. He clenched his teeth together behind his lips, before nodding and looking around for an exit. But, as life has a quaint tendency to take your plans and spit them in your face, before he could even cross the land bridge to freedom, Serana in tow, a couplet of grotesque, stony monstrosities burst from their rock prisons like eager butterflies from cocoons. Ugly, magical, razor-clawed butterflies.

To say that Debent screamed like a little girl would be a gross understatement.

Debent _screeched _in such a high and frantic octave, Serana was sure that the gargoyles were momentarily shocked, frozen in place for a few precious seconds. It gave Debent enough time to lob several fiery orbs at the things before summoning some kind of flaming daedric something-or-other, pulling a clunky contraption off his back to load a short, metal arrow into it. Serana was so busy staring at it she didn't notice the gargoyle stampeding right for her until something _very _heavy slammed into her from the side, knocking her over. As she struggled with it, it gnashed it's rock jaws towards her face, drool dribbling from it's lipless mouth and onto her face. Oh gods, its breath reeked.

Why does it stink so badly? Why is it drooling? Even more importantly, why do gargoyles even have to breathe, or drool for that matter? In her struggle, she managed to glance quickly over at Debent, still struggling with that odd contraption, which looked like a small bow nailed to a chunk of wood. "For Mara's sake, _hurry up!"_ she shouted, thrashing and wiggling as the automaton dug its claws into her arm, and she could feel her strength being sapped from her.

Suddenly there was a sound akin to the muffled _thunk _of an arrow let fly, and a shiny steel rod was lodged in the gargoyle's stony hide, sending it tumbling to the ground. She rolled away, scrambling to her feet and returning to Debent's side. She stared long and hard at the wood-block-bow-thing, glaring when she found it took a long time to load. Before she had thought, she'd grabbed it and threw it into the lake, much to the dismay of her wizard companion. "You have magic," she snapped, "use it."

And use it he did. She had to admit, later as they were escaping through a cavernous opening in the mountain, that he was a very good spell caster.


	3. Prophet

Gods it was cold. Whose idea was it to climb up this damned mountain anyway?

Oh. That's right.

Serana frowned as she rubbed warmth into her arms, glaring at the back of her companion's blond head. Not that it would do any good to keep herself warm; she was technically dead, after all. Debent stepped confidently, and it was very obvious that he'd traveled this beaten, snow-covered path before. Not surprising, since he was clad from head to toe in mage's wear when she first saw him. Now was a different story, however.

Instead, now he had donned the leather armor characteristic of her clan, imbued with magic to assist him with his summoning, and he was no longer a student, for reasons Serana had not bothered to ask him about. He had kept the ring from his former days at the College however, and fiddled with it occasionally as they walked. It somehow made him healthier, or something. Who was she to argue; she never really was one for enchantment. She just really couldn't be bothered to go through all the trouble of casting the right spell at the right time, and that visit to the Soul Cairn had given her an incomprehensible aversion to soul gems, especially the black kind.

Serana blinked when she realized that could be taken as an affront to people of Redguard persuasion.

Well, no matter. She returned to being angry about trudging through the snow and cold when they just as easily could have taken shorter walk to Solitude and taken a carriage from there. Or they could used that odd spell of his, the one that transported them to places they had already been. However, that was never their first choice; depending on the distance, the spell itself, being largely experimental, had lasting effects ranging from very minor to incredibly dramatic. The last time they used it, Debent was nauseous and dizzy all day, having to stop and rest for up to an hour constantly, sometimes getting sick. By the time they got where they needed to go, the place was crawling with bandits, and Debent was too weak to fight competently.

She was still very angry about having to fight through a horde of sweaty, unwashed, fur-clad peasants-gone-rogue.

She also supposed he just liked to walk. Serana caught him doing that sometimes, just wandering around the castle or the grounds. Sometimes he would speak to the other inhabitants of the fortress, other times he would just stroll alone along the shore, drawing patterns in the sand. Sometimes she wondered if he was always like this when he was alone, or thought he was alone; distant, entangled in his own musings. It was almost like he was a different person.

"We should reach Winterhold by sunrise, if we keep at this pace."

Debent's voice from in front of her made her jump, and she realized she'd been pondering again. She frowned.

"You've been saying the exact same thing for three days," she said. "You're starting to get a bad burn. You should have worn a hood, or at least a helmet. I could have bought you one in Solitude, but did you want to go to Solitude? No, you wanted to _walk _all the way to Winterhold."

Debent tuned her out then.

* * *

It took them another two days to reach Winterhold, just before the sun rose. Lucky too, because Debent was starting to get a terrible sunburn on his face, and, on top of that, needed to feed. He knew the innkeeper, who owed him a favor and let him feed on the elf that had taken up permanent residence there once he slept. Debent had to promise that he wouldn't make a mess though, and would leave the elf alive; evidently he paid well. He swore on his great-aunt's arm fat, which made the dark elf sitting placidly in the corner double over laughing, and earned him a good-natured frown from the innkeeper's wife, and they quickly retreated to their doorless room, sitting on the stone floor.

"Are you sure he won't tell anyone?" Serana asked, in a hushed whisper, as she picked up one of the many pieces of hay on the floor and tore it into smaller and smaller pieces. "I mean, there's no guarantee we can trust him, is there?"

Debent pursed his lips and drew a coin from his purse, turning it over with his fingers. Honestly he was amazed with the decent sized fortune he had amassed over the short time he had been in these lands, learning the ways of the natives here. Partly because he saw no reason to spend money; he was perfectly content with the items and armor he carried on his person, and what he didn't need he sold. He found himself repeating a lesson he had learned from an old friend: "A Nord is only as good as his word. I trust that Dagur knows that dishonest men are not smiled upon in Skyrim."

Serana frowned. It was a lesson she had heard many times as a child, and a lesson that had proven, time and time again, to be faulty. "Just because he's a Nord doesn't mean he'll keep his word. That's something only children and the impaired believe." She saw Debent frown, before his face returned to its previous neutral expression.

"I still think we shouldn't worry," he said, still looking at the coin. Or maybe he was looking at his lap, considering he no longer fiddled with the piece, and simply let it lay in his palm.

"And _I _think that we should!"

Debent bit his lip. He had no intention to fight with his friend, and simply gave her a few coins to buy something to eat and drink and went to go visit with Nelacar.

* * *

Serana had spent the entire day stewing in her frustration, and by the time they were both ready to leave, she had resigned herself to giving Debent the cold shoulder as they made their way down the street to the College. Taking the hint, Debent refrained from opening his mouth, even as he felt his stomach sink with every step up the steep slope leading towards the entrance. Even in her anger, she could see her friend growing tenser and tenser the closer they came to the large, iron gate separating the mages inside from the rest of the world. Debent's voice broke the silence as they approached, "when I first arrived here, I thought this gate seemed so flimsy, that it couldn't possibly keep even a handful of Nord warriors at bay." He paused, and when Serana didn't say anything, continued, "and now it seems like the whole world could throw itself at it a million and ten times, with nothing to show for it."

She jumped a little when the gates opened on their own, granting them entry into the courtyard. Stepping onto familiar ground didn't make Debent feel any lighter. In fact, standing before the statue of Magnus* that watched over the gate made him feel strangely pious, and guilty. Perhaps because the last time he was here, he hadn't been a creature of dubious Daedric origin. It wasn't long before meandering around in the square found him a familiar face.

"Mirabelle!" The Breton woman raised her eyebrows and drew her nose from her book (is she ever without that book?), giving a small semblance of a smile before wiping it from her face and going to greet her former student. Imagine her surprise when Debent grabbed her and wrapped her in a tight hug. "It's so nice to finally see someone who's as short as me again," he jested, keeping her like that for an almost inordinate amount of time. But in his heart, he was truly glad to see her again, and Mirabelle new it, too; if only he wasn't so cold...

Mirabelle gave him a few pats on the back, and he reluctantly released her, leaving her to clear her throat and straighten her robes. She gave more than just a passing glance to Serana, who stood away from the reunion, as she spoke, "it's good to see you again as well, Debent. I'm sure your former classmates will be delighted to see you, and your friend, too." Debent's face split into a wide grin, and soon he and Serana found themselves in the large, vaulted* hall that served as the primary location for lectures. Tolfdir was lobbing fireballs at a spindly young High Elf, no doubt a new apprentice to the College, while she casted a ward that was quickly dwindling in size.

Three other figures were gathered round on the other side of the chamber, no doubt exasperated over being forced to listen to a lesson they had already had before. However, as soon as one of the three recognized Debent standing in the entryway, all learning stopped, and Debent found himself surrounded by old friends. They hugged, and laughed, only giving Debent time to briefly introduce himself to the new apprentice, who had wandered over to see what the commotion was about, before setting upon him again. Only Serana, who, as always, stood away, noticed the lone figure, broad shouldered, tall and masculine, standing where the other two once stood. And there the figure remained, until the happy homecoming party absconded to the courtyard, and Serana followed suit.

The figure remained there as she opened the door, sparing a passing glace over her shoulder, before exiting the Hall of the Elements.

* * *

Tolfdir decided to go back to the Hall of the Elements after saying the proper hellos to his former student (something about forgetting something; the old man seemed to be in quite a hurry), and the new apprentice, who had introduced herself as Sitalma, had retired to her room – Debent's old room! – after the party had reached the student's quarters. Thus, it was only Serana, Debent, and the two other apprentices; a Khajiit, and a Dark Elf. Debent set about introducing them at once.

"The Khajiit there is J'zargo," Debent said, after he had introduced Serana to the other two. "And the Dunmer is Brelyna." His smile grew tight and eyes seem to jump from room to room, almost nervously, before he apparently settled down and his face relaxed. They sat and chatted and shared a bottle of ale, J'zargo and Debent engaging in friendly banter, trying to one up and regale each other with stories of their adventures more than anything else, while Brelyna tried to get Serana to open up, with very little success. Without warning, the doors to the entry way opened, and in walked a young Nord man, around Debent's age, whom Serana recognized instantly as the figure with the broad shoulders.

The Nord and Debent locked eyes, and suddenly it was very, _very _quiet.

* * *

* **A/N: I don't actually know if the statue in the middle of the courtyard of the College of Winterhold is a statue of Magnus; I just assumed, since Magnus is the god of wisdom and is often the patron of mages, that the statue was dedicated to them.**

* **A/N: I also don't actually know if the ceiling in the Hall of the Elements is vaulted, since I never bothered to look. Just remember that this story is full of creative licencing, and not at all 100%** **accurate.**


End file.
